


Asleep

by namewritteninsand



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Comfort, M/M, post carry on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5128211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/namewritteninsand/pseuds/namewritteninsand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon wakes up thinking that his magic has returned</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asleep

The worst part about sleeping in the same bed as someone with wings was that they could wake you by having them flap on your back, relentlessly, even if it was four in the morning and “Crowley, it’s my one day off this week, you shit."

“Baz.”

It wasn’t all bad, though, at least for one Basilton Pitch. He got to wake up with his lips mere inches from one of the moles on Simon’s left cheek. So, of course, he got to kiss it. Not so terrible, as far as four am wake up calls go.

“Baz,” Simon repeated, “My magic.”

“What?”

Baz was struggling to focus on much other than that mole, and then the little curve in his boyfriend’s cheek where the corners of his lips met.

“My magic is coming back.”

“Mm. Don’t smell it.”

He descended, placing chaste kisses against Simon’s chin, his Adam’s apple, all along both sides of his collarbone.

It was only surprise that allowed Simon to push him away.

“I’m serious. I feel it.”

“What’re you on about, Snow?”

“My hand. I feel it.”

“Let there be light.”

Simon’s face came into perfect, beautiful view. Curls mashed against his forehead and concern written in his eyes, he tilted his head and kissed Baz hard, demanding.

“I think I’m getting my magic back.”

It was impossible. Bunce had researched it so much that Baz had wanted to pull his hair out (Simon stopped him right away. “Pull off your clothes, if you must”). There was no way, without dark spells, without dangerous effects.

“Love-”

“I can feel it,” Simon insisted. He pulled his hand from where it was crushed beneath Baz’s body and held it up, as though the magic would be shimmering there (it may have been, if it were back. But it couldn’t be).

“It’s not possible.”

“I know it’s not. But it’s happening. It’s the exact same. Warm. Tingling. Like a bomb waiting to go off.”

Oh.

“Like a bomb,” Simon repeated, “Give me your wand.”

“It’s-”

“Your wand, Baz.”

Reluctantly, Baz handed the wand to his boyfriend. He knew exactly where this was going- nowhere- but there was no way for him to stop it.

“Clean as a whistle,” Simon banged to wand against his pillow, desperately, “Fuck. Clean as a whistle.”

“Simon,” Baz said, as gently as possible, “Your magic can’t come back.”

“It feels the same,” Simon insisted, knuckles white around the wand, “It does.”

Taking Simon’s hand between both of his own, Baz raised it to his lips and softly kissed each knuckle, over and over, until his hand started to loosen. At last, Simon dropped the wand and fell, heavy and limp, against Baz’s chest.

“Fuck,” He mumbled.

“Your hand fell asleep.”

“Fuck.”

He was shaking. He was crying.

“I thought it was back,” He said, voice wet and thick.

“You don’t need magic. I’m brilliant enough at it for the two of us.”

“Fuck.”

Simon had recently read an article on Facebook that talked about how saying powerful words, like “fuck,” would make pain feel less potent. Baz told him that it was only to do with physical pain, like stubbing your toe, but Simon had taken it into account for emotional pain, too. And thing’s that were not pain at all. He just really liked the word, honestly.

“Crowley, Snow, you’re going to make my ears bleed.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Simon said, out of spite. He was smiling a bit through his tears- success.

“You don’t need magic.”

“I just miss it, y’know?”

“No,” Baz said, because he didn’t know. There was no way for him to understand.

“Exactly. There’s no smoke. There’s nothing.”

For a while, Baz just held him, lightly scratching his back from left to right in the way he liked. He whispered “Simon” in his ear, just once, to let him know he was there (and because he was as soft as a fucking marshmallow). 

“If I could at least get rid of these fucking wings.”

“Don’t. I love them.”

“You just called me a shit for waking you up with them.”

“I they hadn’t woken me up, I couldn’t do this,” Baz kissed Simon again, pushing for control, “Could I?”

He dipped down again, finishing off kissing his collarbone, before snaking his lips towards his shoulder. He rounded out back at Simon’s lips, letting them them meld together how they just did.

“Guess my mouth is all the magic I need,” Simon whispered, breathless, into Baz’s ear, as his wings wrapped around their bodies once more.


End file.
